Original subtitles

The city is all abuzz about Le Canard Bleu's new menu.

The ladies I play euchre with

say that the dishes resemble edible art.

What good is an art exhibit

that I get to digest at the end of the day?

There was nothing wrong with their old menu.

Their full bird was the best in town.

Well, you better learn to like it.

After all, we're part owners.

I can't believe I let you talk me into this investment.

We'd better turn a profit, Margaret.

Oh, Thomas, the best currency is of the social variety.

-Shall we? -Yes.

C'mon, lady, you gotta leave.

I am a respected member of the press.

My paper can be a serious help to you. Or a hindrance.

This is a dinner for investors.

It is not a publicity event.

We cannot have you sneaking about the kitchen.

Now, if you do not remove yourself,

I will have you arrested for trespassing.

Margaret, keep your head down and your feet moving.

-Ah, good evening. -Chief Constable!

-Good evening. -Mrs. Brackenreid.

I know them. I know... I know them.

Chief Constable! I know them. I...

Louise Cherry gets everywhere!

Is she always that pushy?

Pushy doesn't even cover it.

Oh.

Chief Constable Brackenreid.

Chadwick Vaughan.

I thought you'd run off to Paris in disgrace.

Ah, a sojourn.

But I am surprised to see you here.

I trust you didn't sell your lovely wife's pearls

just to sit at the big table.

Is everything all right, Thomas?

I very much doubt it, Margaret. Shall we?

Esteemed investors.

The Windsor House is pleased to welcome you

to what will soon be the most innovative

French haute dining experience

in all the world, Le Canard Bleu.

The launch of our new menu is finally just two days away.

Ah. Our first course.

Fresh milkweed pods

with basil oil in a garlic-tomato aioli.

You'll notice the presentation reflects the meadow...

-Oh! -where they were

hand-harvested by members of our kitchen.

Bon appétit.

Call that a course? It's barely a mouthful.

Thomas!

Mm.

Mm!

Mesdames et messieurs,

the curator of tonight's experience, Chef Lloyd Aleister.

Chef, tell our investors

a little bit about yourself.

I feel my menu tells my story.

He's very humble. Go on.

Mm.

Well, I studied under Chef Auguste Escoffier

at The Savoy in London.

-Oh! -Like him,

I'm a retired serviceman.

As such, I value timing and meticulous planning.

So I really must be getting back...

Oh, um, could we have a tour of the kitchen?

Oh,absolument! Fantastic idea.

Oh, ho-ho! I do like a good kitchen.

The fish course was divine.

I've never had rainbow trout prepared in that manner.

Chef Aleister has a beautiful mind

for these things. Right, Chef Soap?

Your dishes are so small.

You took the skin off the fish and fried it to a cracker.

-You know, the old menu... -had a full bird. They know!

The old menu didn't have anyone itching to invest,

did it?

Chef Aleister is challenging

what the restaurant experience is.

It's not about leaving full. It's about feeling fulfilled.

It's gastronomy.

It's a lot of gas, that's what it is.

Thomas!

Eugene?

Oh, my God. Something's happened to Eugene!

Dear God.

Oh, mon Dieu. He's dead.

I can smell gas.

Everyone out of the kitchen, now! Move it! Move!

Oh, this gas line's been cut.

I don't smell anything.

Well, the tank is likely spent.

The door is locked.

Well, that's odd.

Ooh. Bloody hell.

Are you two trying to join the young lad in the morgue

-holing up in here? -Sir, the lock mechanism

has been tampered with, and the gas line has been cut.

So, not an accident, then.

Did anyone in the kitchen

wish Mr. Belco harm?

Of course not. This is a brigade,

one unit working towards a common goal.

My men have nothing but esteem for one another.

Perhaps someone who was jealous

of his position in the kitchen.

Belco was the garçon de cuisine.

The kitchen boy.

Nobody with sense would kill for his position.

Who was the last person to enter the refrigerator

prior to Mr. Belco?

That would have been Finley.

When exactly did this happen?

Beginning of dinner preparation.

I had to get the trout out for the lemon bath.

And do you recall the smell of burnt matches?

I didn't smell anything.

-Are you quite sure? -Chef Kershaw

was in there with me.

In fact, I left the refrigerator before he did. Ask him.

Chef Finley did leave me in there,

but then Chef Aleister held the door,

then went in himself.

So, Mr. Aleister was the last one to enter

the refrigerator before Mr. Belco?

Yes, I went in to inspect the grouse. What of it?

Someone cut the gas line

and manipulated the lock mechanism.

And according to the timeline, Mr. Aleister,

that person would be you.

I wouldn't murder my own man.

The only enemy is time. There's never enough of it.

I was the last in the refrigerator,

but nothing was amiss when I left.

Was anyone else in the kitchen last night?

On advice of legal counsel... What was it?

"On advice of legal counsel, I decline to answer."

Miss Newsome, i-is this really necessary?

I'm simply trying to ask Mr. Berk...

"Bairk".

"Bairk".

And I am simply looking out

for my client's best interests.

He doesn't know anything.

And I won't have him cajoled by police

into making an errant statement

that could be used against him.

All I want to know

is if there was anyone else in the kitchen

beside the staff prior to the start of the tour.

-Go ahead. -No.

Is that all, Detective?

Oh! Someone did go into the kitchen.

I'm sorry, sweetheart.

Refer to me as legal counsel.

So sorry.

You two...

Who did you see in the kitchen last night, Mr. Berk?

"Bairk".

Clement Guy, our old sous.

A former employee? Was he fired?

He sure was.

Guy and Chef Aleister had a bit of a dust-up

and he subsequently promoted Chef Kershaw.

What's in the bag?

Just the tastiest, spiciest meat pie

I've ever eaten in my life. Hey! Get your own!

Oh!

This is marvellous.

I'd love to add this to my personal dining guide.

I've drawn every picture of every great meal

I've had across my travel. Hm.

-You draw them from memory? -Before we eat.

Drives Vivian mad to have to wait

while I capture the dish, but hm.

-Henry, where did you buy this? -I just picked it up

while I was walking my beat.

Well, we'll just have to walk your beat again, hm?

Thank you again for being by my side.

That, uh, Detective Murdoch is really sharp.

That he is.

You don't have anything to worry about.

I know you wouldn't hurt anyone.

-Oh. -Oh. Mm-hmm.

Effie!

Mrs. Brackenreid.

-Yes and...? -This is Ali Berk.

-Ha. -Charmed.

Wait! I know you.

You work at the restaurant at the Windsor.

-Yes! -He's actually the pastry chef.

Oh. Well, I was very disappointed not to try

your, um... disassembled nannyberry tart.

Ah! Well, I will have Effie forward you the recipe.

-Ah. -Good day, ma'am.

Yes. Lovely.

Pastry chef?

Uh. No.

No, no.

Detective. I've brought what you asked for.

Ah! I'm conducting an experiment,

and I was wondering if you would like to help me.

I'd be delighted.

The toxic gas was sulphur dioxide.

When concentrated in a confined space,

it can be lethal in minutes.

That, Miss Hart, brings me to a theory

I'm looking to prove.

Mr. Guy entered the kitchen

at the start of the evening's culinary preparations,

meaning he would have been first into the refrigerator.

Sixteen... point-five.

You're wondering when exactly

the concentration becomes noticeable.

And lethal. If the timeline supports it,

Clement Guy could be a viable suspect

who may have a clear motive to sabotage the restaurant.

Given our conclusions,

I suppose you're off to see Mr. Guy.

Indeed.

Mr. Clement Guy?

You two better not be more reporters.

I already wasted a break jabbering with that other lady.

-What other lady? -Said she was writing

an exposé about Le Canard.

Louise Cherry.

No.

You two are coppers?

Damn shame what happened to Belco.

You got Chef Aleister behind bars?

Do you think he did it?

Chef Aleister is a sadistic brute.

He takes pleasure in breaking people,

especially Belco.

Mr. Aleister had a particular dislike

for Mr. Belco?

That'd be putting it mildly.

And Belco, he didn't do himself any favours,

showing up drunk, but Chef Aleister,

he treated everyone that way.

Well, except for Chef Soap.

-Why's that? -Spent a lot of time together.

-I think he's sweet on her. -Mm.

But there was a particular animosity

between Mr. Aleister and Mr. Belco?

It's interesting because none of the others

mentioned that to us.

Yeah, of course not.

Everyone fancies him some kind of genius

of gastronomy and no one can say boo to him.

What did he do to the young boy?

Couple o' times Belco shows up, sauced to stars,

chef strips him down to his union suit

and forces him into the refrigerator to sober up.

And no one was gonna stand up to him, so I did.

It's what got me fired.

So then what were you doing there last night?

I was picking up last week's pay from Leclercq.

He'll confirm it.

Look, you gotta understand...

Chef Aleister,

he's like a god in that building.

Everyone to a man on that line would lie for him.

Or worse.

What are you doing in my kitchen?

Ah. Chef Aleister.

Unfortunately, in light of new evidence,

you're our prime suspect in the murder of Chef Belco.

Wh-What new evidence?

This missing piece of the refrigerator's

lock mechanism found on your desk, for a start.

You're under arrest, Mr. Aleister.

I've never seen that... nobbly bit in my life.

And I did not kill my garçon de cuisine.

I find it telling that he was murdered

in a refrigerator when that is exactly how

you chose to punish him in the past.

And nobody mentioned your brutishness in the kitchen.

Only the man that you fired for insubordination.

He's jealous. And I take great umbrage

at any accusation of brutality.

You locked one of your employees

inside of a refrigerator.

There was nothing untoward about my conduct.

One's profession dictates the terms

of acceptable discipline.

Perhaps I operate beyond the limits of what you civilians

deem acceptable.

I know. You think all we do is make food.

That's precisely what you do.

No. We do not make food.

We forge the perfect dining experience

through sweat and blood,

and my methods are the only way to achieve this.

But I wouldn't kill my own man!

Thank you. That's all for now, Mr. Aleister.

I'd like to speak with the kitchen staff again.

I found it curious that they never mentioned

his cruelty before.

Perhaps there's more that they're hiding.

Mm.

So, anyway, I was continuing to walk my beat

and, uh, well, here it was.

-Huh. -Uh...

That is a garbage receptacle!

Henry, did you feed us trash?

No. No, no.

Well, yes. But it was above the cylinder in a paper bag.

Adjacent to refuse is still refuse, Henry!

It's about time you lot came around.

Someone came into my apothecary and held me up.

And he had that bag with him.

This bag?

How do you know it was this particular paper bag?

He put it on the counter while I emptied the register.

Left an awful grease stain.

Did you get a look at that man?

He had some sort of kerchief about his face

and he was moving so quickly.

He was in the throes of a coughing fit.

Well, Henry, not only have you fed us garbage,

it seems you fed us evidence from a robbery.

Oh, my!

I understand Mr. Aleister administered

aggressive and sometimes violent punishment to his staff.

No. I never saw anything like that.

Chef is firm, but fair.

Mr. Aleister himself admitted to locking Mr. Belco

in the refrigerator as punishment.

He may have crossed a line in that instance.

But Belco brought it upon himself.

What behaviour could have possibly warranted

such a response?

He was late.

Late and drunk.

Chef Soap was always covering for him.

She's a rose among thorns.

But you can't hide anything from Chef Aleister.

And you never witnessed any other behaviour

from Mr. Aleister that crossed the line?

-No. -No.

No.

Well...

on advice of legal counsel, I decline to answer.

Miss Newsome, I will be frank with you.

I do not consider Mr. Berk to be a suspect in this case.

-Good. -However,

recalcitrant behaviour on the part

of a material witness is not looked upon favourably

by the constabulary.

It would be a shame if your client's silence

were to attract unfair treatment from this station house.

See? This is exactly the kind of police bias

and overreach I'm trying to protect him from.

We might be forced to perform a search of your client's home.

And the home of his romantic partner.

I think you're bluffing.

Are you willing to risk the intrusion?

Well played, Detective.

Again, I ask you, Mr. Berk...

have you witnessed Mr. Aleister engaging

in brutality toward his staff?

Yes.

But only when we did something wrong.

What have you seen?

He once shoved Chef Kershaw into a counter so hard

that his ribs were bruised for several weeks.

But he had over-seasoned the grouse.

I think he would even tell you that was his fault.

-Has he hurt you? -Nothing I can't endure.

Mr. Berk, why are you and the others

so reticent to admit this?

Chef Aleister did nothing wrong.

He is the finest chef in the country.

We would all give our left eye to work for him.

And if he has taken this punishing behaviour

a step too far, would you still be willing

to give your left eye to protect him?

He didn't kill Belco.

It was pure dumb luck that Belco

was even in the refrigerator that night.

-What do you mean? -Well, Chef Aleister

is particularly particular about his desserts.

If it wasn't for the investors disrupting the routine,

he would have gone in there himself.

You think one of my chefs is trying to kill me?

You said yourself that dinner service

is meticulously planned.

If that is the case, we believe you to be the target.

Dissent? Within my ranks?

I-I don't believe it. They wouldn't dare.

We also think someone is trying to frame you

by placing the lock mechanism on your desk.

We both took the Queen's shilling

and I've got as much invested in the success

of this restaurant as you do.

But you must consider postponing the menu unveiling.

At least until we can find out

who on your staff is trying to kill you.

I don't fear the ever after.

If either of you were in the Queen's service,

then you would know we don't run from danger.

We run towards it.

The service is tomorrow and that stands.

What on earth?

What?

Look at this discolouration.

Oh, Murdoch, I'm not worried about your science

at the moment. I'm more worried about my investment

in this bloody restaurant.

Could be something.

Don't tell me those are more desserts.

They're pawpaw pastries.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

What on earth is a pawpaw?

That's exactly what I asked Chef Soap!

Apparently, the pawpaw is the only tropical fruit

in Ontario. It's practically a miracle of nature.

-Mm. -Mm.

Certainly tastes like a miracle.

It tastes like a tangy banana custard.

Mm.

Before Chef Aleister and the renovations,

the kitchen used to be open to the dining room,

so we could watch everybody enjoying their food.

So that's why you endure it.

Well, feeding people is-is giving people pleasure.

I think it's quite beautiful.

Apologies, Miss Newsome.

I didn't realize you had company.

Shall I return once you've finished?

Oh, that's not necessary. Ali Berk.

You look like you could use something to eat.

These aren't even on the menu yet.

Uh, pardon, are you... Are you seeing a baker?

He's a pastry chef.

Apologies, Mr. Berk.

-"Bairk". -"Bairk".

An honest mistake.

Sometimes otherwise-refined people

make rather obvious mistakes.

Isn't that true, Miss Newsome?

Good day to you, Mr. "Bairk".

I'm worried about Effie.

Seeing a pastry chef? I mean, he seems nice enough

and I hate to say it, but I think

she's courting below her station.

Your mother felt the same about me

'til she fell for my Yorkshire charm.

My euchre partner, Aggie,

has a nephew who works here at city hall.

Well, you've invited Effie to the menu unveiling.

Have a word with her then.

Elouise's son. He's an accountant!

Him? He sucked his thumb 'til he was seventeen.

She needs a man, Margaret.

Aggie also let it slip

that Chadwick Vaughan was seen with a new companion.

-Oh. That doesn't surprise me. -Mm.

Apparently, he left his wife in Paris

for some trollop half his age.

Vaughan.

It's been staring me in the face.

He was there the night the kitchen boy was gassed.

Maybe I'll pop by the restaurant,

ask Aleister if Vaughan's been hanging around.

The hotel owners are having a private dinner.

-Hm. -Mm.

Chief Constable. Ma'am.

Miss Cherry, as I live and breathe.

I'm investigating allegations of murder and barbarity

at Le Canard Bleu. Do you care to comment

on the rumours that the chef de cuisine

murdered one of his underlings?

-Oh. Well, I would... -No comment.

-Nope. -Now, thank you, Miss Cherry.

If you'll excuse us.

We have things to discuss. Privately.

-Mm-hmm. -Bye-bye.

Bye.

And what shape do these Ontario delicacies...?

Excuse me, young lady.

Is this gentleman bothering you?

Yes.

Though it's no business of yours.

What do you want with her?

As you know, I'm an investor in this restaurant.

I was simply minding my investment.

-Penelope! -Oh! Vaughnie!

Effie!

Louise! What are you doing here?

I am waiting for the detective to go on record for my story.

But it seems like everyone is giving me the runaround.

-What do we have here? -Pawpaw pastries.

Ali made them for me, along with several other

ices and treats.

My apartment's overrun with them.

Oh, poor you. A man has filled your life

-with food. What a hardship. -I'm not complaining.

I'm not! I-I have no room in my ice box.

There's nowhere to put them all!

Well, I can help you with that.

So, how is your new courtship?

He's very kind. He's sweet. It's nice to be taken care of.

-But? -I like him very much.

But something's off. I don't know what it is.

You're a fool. You should marry this man tomorrow.

Ali made an even better batch,

but the gas leak ruined the whole lot.

He tasted them before dinner service

and they were perfect.

I beg your pardon,

but did you say Mr. Berk was inside of the refrigerator

prior to dinner service?

Mm. I don't believe I...

Because that's not what he told me.

I'll be needing a word with your client, Miss Newsome.

I wanted to ask you about one of the investors.

Vaughan. Has he been hanging around much?

The only investor lurking about is you.

Behind!

How long on the walleye, Finley?

We're dragging like the hem of a drunkard's trousers.

After all that, you bring it to me

30 seconds under! You call yourself a chef?

No answer from the kitchen.

I asked if you call yourself a chef!

-Yes, chef! -Whoa, whoa, whoa!

This is my kitchen.

I've stepped in better chefs walking behind a horse.

You'd be more useful as an ashpan.

Is that really necessary?

Don't question my methods.

There's an art to war. We must suffer for our art.

There's no other way.

I don't think that's true.

I command a number of men

and I find it more important that they respect you

than that they fear you.

Blue walleye on a sea-salted stinging nettle crisp

with a citrus velouté.

You eat the fish and its habitat in one bite,

nature reborn on the tongue.

You don't get this kind of perfection pretty-pleasing.

You get it from rigid, unfaltering discipline.

Service!

Last plate's out. Only dessert remains.

I usually treat myself to a drink before dessert.

Where exactly in England are you from?

Chef? Chef?

Someone's tampered with the cognac.

One of you get help now, quick!

All right! I-I'll go, I'll go!

Someone poisoned his cognac.

We're certain he was the intended target?

Well, it was his own bottle.

He always had a drink before dessert.

Then our theory is sound.

Someone in the kitchen staff is trying to end him.

Mr. Berk? I'd like a word, please.

Down at the station house.

I'll catch up with you later, Murdoch.

-Leclercq. Can I have a word? -Yes.

I was trying to talk to Aleister about Vaughan.

Had you seen him hanging around much?

-More than I'd like. -The night of the murder?

He didn't leave the dining room that night.

What was he doing?

He's been accosting the staff,

criticizing how I do my job and taking stories

to the hotel owner.

Which member of the staff was he bothering?

Chef Soap asked me to keep him away from her.

She wouldn't tell me what he said,

but I'm sure it was most unbecoming.

Hm.

So, it's a crime spree, then?

Yes. There was another robbery near the apothecary,

a masked man swigging a bottle of milk of magnesia

in between coughs.

He wrote out his demands on a piece of butcher paper.

Speak to the local butchers.

Maybe he works there, or perhaps he's a patron

and someone can make the handwriting.

If only we knew exactly what was inside,

we might be able to figure out who made it.

-Hm. -Let me taste again.

-No. -What we need is an expert,

someone with a sophisticated sense of taste, hm?

Why did you lie about leaving your station

the night of Mr. Belco's murder?

You told him?

It was a mistake. I'm sorry.

That makes you the last person

to enter the refrigerator before Mr. Belco died.

I didn't kill Eugene!

I was just in there checking on the pastries.

Did you smell burnt matches when you entered?

I don't remember.

The-The door latch was stuck when I opened it and...

I-I was just trying to close it and get out of there.

Did you say the door latch was sticking?

That means the lock had already been tampered with.

If that's all you were doing, then why did you lie to me?

Chef Aleister would have been furious if he knew.

We are never to leave our stations, ever.

Please, Detective, do-don't tell him, okay?

-It's my fault. -No, it's fine.

I just don't want him to go blabbing.

Oi. You're a cook, aren't you?

-Pastry chef. -Berk.

We're in need of your expertise.

We're trying to solve a robbery.

To do that, we need to know what's in this meat pie.

What?

Uh! Uh.

Mm.

Oh, that's good.

Beef, garlic, onion,

a chili pepper.

No, a Bonney pepper.

Mm. The yellowish colour comes from a spice.

Ah, small bites, man! It's all we have left.

-It's very hot. -I'd say it's turmeric.

You would do well to go down to Cedric's in the Ward.

He has all manner of rare spices.

-Hm. -Thank you.

Need a glass of milk.

Chadwick Vaughan?

Just hear me out.

Margaret's friends have finally said something

worth listening to.

Vaughan got divorced and he's seeing a younger woman.

Now, I saw him talking to Chef Soap at the kitchens

at the Windsor Hotel.

Clement Guy did mention that Mr. Aleister

may have eyes for her as well.

Exactly. Vaughan wants to kill Aleister because they're both

after the same young strumpet.

It's a tale as old as time, me ol' mucker.

Certainly is possible.

Knowing what Vaughan is capable of,

I'd say it's highly possible.

Got to look sharp for the menu unveiling.

Well, those of us with a table.

I've learned that you've been pursuing Miss Soap romantically

and we believe her to be in a relationship

with Mr. Aleister.

That would give you strong motivation for attempted murder.

Is that what this is about?

Miss Soap has ambitions of her own.

An eatery featuring Ontario delicacies,

or some such.

A ridiculous prospect, really.

I did not try and kill Aleister.

I'm the only reason he's still employed.

What do you mean?

The hotel owner is an old friend.

You know, one of those people you and my wife

tried to turn against me.

When the maître d' repeatedly tried to fire Aleister

over budget concerns,

my friend asked me to evaluate the food.

Budget concerns?

Aleister overspent. All these delays.

The man is a perfectionist and it cost a mint.

So Mr. Leclercq wanted to fire Mr. Aleister?

Of course.

The budget is his domain.

The only reason he wasn't fired...

is because I assured him the food was on par,

or better, than the finest eateries in all the world.

I see.

Oh!

No harm done, my good man.

Until next time, Detective.

So Frenchie had a motive to get rid of Aleister.

And he had access to the kitchen.

To the none-too-soon demise of Chef Aleister.

Did you say demise?

Mr. Leclercq, we'd like a word.

I didn't mean demise as in death.

I'm simply pleased he's gone.

Mr. Leclercq, isn't it true

that you tried to petition the owners to fire Mr. Aleister?

Of course I did! Countless times.

The man spends like a Babylonian king.

I mean, the owner keeps saying,

"Jean-Luc, make the budget sing,"

"Jean-Luc, make Chef Aleister happy."

Nobody on Earth could do this job!

They think he's a genius. What is this?

It is not French cuisine! What is a pawpaw?!

Huh?!

Bloody hell. Shouldn't you be in hospital?

This is still my restaurant.

Look, I admire your grit, but you're not well.

Let Kershaw run the pass.

This is my night, my menu. I'd rather die.

Mr. Fefferman? Duncan Fefferman?

-That's right. -Food critic

of the New York World?

What is this about?

A preview of tomorrow's edition of The Sentinel.

I think you'll find my article very interesting.

This is your paper?

Oh. The prose,

your voice, it's... subjective.

It's an acquired taste. Read with a dry red.

On order.

You're not fit to stand, much less run a kitchen.

The battle is over, the war is lost.

That's not an option. Hand it off to Kershaw.

Mr. Aleister.

Uh, we need to speak.

Kershaw! Come here. You're in charge.

-No. -What's the matter, son?

-Don't make me do this. -Why?

I thought this was your dream.

I'm a chef, but I'm not a leader.

I can't do what Chef Aleister does.

Go back to your station, son.

Right then, lads! And young lady!

-Hm? -Service is upon us.

Once more unto the breach for God, St. George and England!

Yes, chef!

Right then. Two-top table, on order,

two fiddle head salads, two spruce grouse pâtés.

Yes, chef!

Let's go get 'em!

Oh! Effie.

-This is... -is Roy Davenport.

Oh! You know each other?

We do.

Oh, well, what a small world.

Roy is my friend's nephew

and I thought you would enjoy each other's company.

-How lovely. -Yes.

Allow me.

Oh.

When I saw pawpaw pastries on the menu,

I decided to take a closer look.

And a pattern emerged.

Fried milkweed pods.

Stinging nettle. Quail in half-mourning.

Flemish Beauty pears.

These dishes, though French-inspired,

carry a very strong Ontario influence

and they are all hallmarks of Esther Soap's cooking.

Well... congratulations.

You know the truth.

I'm a fraud.

I'm the least of Escoffier's disciples.

I'm not even from England.

I'm-I'm from Winnipeg.

I knew it!

Mr. Aleister, i-if you stole Miss Soap's menu,

is it possible she tried to kill you

for claiming her creations as your own?

No, that's... that's not possible.

You go and talk to her, Murdoch.

I'll take care of Mr. bloody Winnipeg.

Is this the place?

That's what the clerk at the spice store said.

The only person who'd buy that combination of spices

was a Millicent Weatherburn.

Yes? What you want?

Terribly sorry, ma'am. We're investigating a robbery.

Are you Millicent Weatherburn?

Yes, but me never rob nobody.

Uh, we're not saying you did.

But the man who did dropped that brown paper bag

in the garbage while fleeing the scene.

What? How wicked swine.

Imagine, me make my tenants them beef patty

outta the goodness of my heart, and them dash it 'way.

Uh, the man we're looking for handed this note to the cashier.

Ahh, uh, Mr. Eastman, dat.

Who?

Mr. Eastman.

Him work at the butcher shop on Elizabeth.

Ah! See him deh. See him deh.

Look, look, look. See him deh.

-Hey! Hey! -Ah, ah, ah!

You're under arrest, Mr. Eastman.

We ought to arrest you just for throwing away

these delicious pastries.

Ah, they were too damn spicy!

Ah, my-my stomach hasn't been right since.

Prison food is usually better on the stomach. Come on.

Miss Weatherburn, you really ought to consider

selling these. Perhaps a-a food cart.

I would eat them for lunch every day if I could.

What all you nice.

But why would me wanna work all day and serve people?

Well, because they're the tastiest thing

in all the city. I'd do anything for another.

Look pon my likkle friend.

Yuh like spice?

Well, you could stand to make them a touch milder

for people like me and Mr. Eastman.

Look here, mass a.

Me not change my recipe for suit nobody.

How me make it is how you have to take it.

Then, yes, all right. I will, of course.

It was actually the Inspector's idea to change the recipe.

-Uh! -Really, now? Is that so?

Well, uh, him.

Did you try to kill Chef Aleister

for taking your credit?

What?!

No, of course not.

But he did steal your menu.

Well, yes.

But if chef were gone, I would lose everything.

How so?

No one will hire me as a chef de cuisine.

I'm a woman.

I asked that lech, Vaughan, to invest in me

and he said that I was crazy.

Without my own restaurant, this is as close

as I will ever get to exploring the limits of gastronomy.

So you knew he was stealing from you from the beginning.

I was delighted.

Yes, I am living in Chef Aleister's shadow.

But it's my menu.

It's you, isn't it?

The brains behind the menu.

I beg your pardon, sir. Who are you?

Duncan Fefferman, food critic.

Oh. Where did you get this?

That brash newspaper woman. She was just outside.

I wonder where Thomas is? Excuse me.

Well, this evening took an unexpected turn.

What do you mean?

You knew you were being set up with me?

I was invited and I accepted.

You can't be serious.

Think about it. This is a moment

of mutual opportunity.

A man like me would be very good for you.

I don't think so.

In a field like ours,

you'd do well with a suitable, established husband.

What's in it for you?

If I were to marry you, a lawyer,

I'd be seen as serious and progressive.

I'd be on the bench in five years

with you on my arm.

I'd rather gnaw my own arm off than dangle from yours.

I need to know the source for your story about Miss Soap.

Oh, now you need something from me.

But when I need an interview, I'm treated like a leper.

Well, I don't have it.

A lot of the tips were anonymous.

But whoever it was is pretty sweet on Chef Esther.

-How so? -The letter he wrote called her

a rose among thorns.

He said he hoped that it would bring them closer together

to give her the praise that she deserves.

Did you say rose among thorns?

Thomas Charles Brackenreid.

Not now, woman. I'm running a kitchen!

Now where's my quail in half-mourning?

Um...

Kershaw, you twit! It's under!

Allow me. Chef Kershaw,

just put it back in the oven.

We're almost home, son. You're doing a good job.

See that? Encouragement. It's not hard, is it?

- Mr. Cyril - Uh, can't you see I'm busy?

The anonymous tipster

that wrote in to The Sentinel newspaper

described Miss Soap as a rose among thorns.

Precisely how you described her to me in your interview.

What? So?

Your knife blade is discoloured.

The cause is a chemical reaction between steel

and sulphur dioxide,

the gas that was used to kill Mr. Belco

in the refrigerator.

What? No.

It was you, wasn't it, Mr. Finley?

I-I didn't mean to. I swear, I...

No, you didn't. You meant to kill Mr. Aleister.

Cyril.

No, I did it for you.

He was stealing your menu.

You're the one who deserves the credit.

I never asked for that.

I just thought that if I gave you what you wanted,

you'd fall for me. I love you.

Fall for you?

How could you possibly know what I would want?

You're the real genius!

You deserve to be head chef.

You deserve someone who appreciates you.

You don't even know me.

And now Eugene is dead.

How dare you?

Please, Soap. Soap.

Mr. Finley, you are under arrest.

Oh! Thomas.

I just heard that the food critic

loved the menu, thanks to my husband,

a man of many talents.

Mwah!

Ooh! Oh!

Sir, I-I've heard that both Mr. Aleister

and Mr. Leclercq have quit. What of your investment?

I've had a word with the owner.

He's going back to the old menu with the full bird.

Ah! So you may yet turn a profit.

As soon as I can, I'm taking my money

out of this place. I am not being partners

with Chadwick Vaughan.

Oh, but-but this could be an opportunity

for a second career for you, sir.

You were incredible in that kitchen.

Oh, that's just what I need.

I've not been on my feet this much

since I had my own beat.

Before you know it, I'll be making

bloody dinner for Margaret.

-And her sisters. -Oh, no.

Life's funny sometimes.

Only sometimes?

I find it to be a barrel whenever I'm with you.

I was propositioned tonight.

No, by-by a-a horrible, terrible man.

I would never give it any thought.

-Oh. -I'm...

Relationship with him would be awful.

Hm.

But it did get me thinking...

what kind of relationship I do want.

Oh, and-and what kind of relationship would that be?

I don't think I want one at all.

At least, not right now.

I'm sorry. I hope I haven't wasted your time.

No, no. It wasn't a waste of time.

Not for me.

It-it's never a waste of time to meet nice people

and, Miss Newsome, you are nice people.

Well.

I believe Miss Weatherburn made this batch

spicier on purpose.

Hm. I can't believe she took a liking to Henry.

I did a bit of gardening for her

and she gave me a whole bag.

It's a fair exchange in my books.

Hm. I don't care how spicy they are.

I'm sure these things will catch on one day.

Subtitling: Difuze